


Armpit Heaven

by nightfall_in_winter



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Armie bottoms, Armie in a dress, Armpit Kink, Barebacking, Body Worship, Come Eating, Dom Timmy, I Love You, Love Confessions, M/M, Sadness, Sex Talk, Size Difference, Sweat, Sweet Gestures, Tags Are Hard, Tender Sex, breath play, fever dream Crema, they are dirty but innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfall_in_winter/pseuds/nightfall_in_winter
Summary: Final chapter. Thank you so much for your support! <3





	1. Chapter 1

Timmy collapses on the bed, enjoying the sweet coolness of his cream sheets. His muscles are so tense, and he feels so worn out. A dull, pulsing ache crawls all over his legs. Another exhausting but so satisfying day of filming. They shot these beautiful flirting scenes in Heaven in the blistering heat of Crema.

His body is drenched in sweat and he still wears these oversized denim shorts. They hang low around his hips, exposing the waistband of his damp boxers. He lies down, spread-eagled and bone-tired and the top zone of his silky pubic hair is clearly visible now.

His knowing, reminiscent smile relives the best moment of the day. Armie let him stand on his feet to protect his delicate skin from the swelter. He could feel his nipples pressing on his back in the humid afternoon, his hot breath dancing on his shoulders and neck and his giant hands reaching down and grasping his tiny waist firmly. He felt the unmissable firmness in Armie’s shorts as he held him close and his cock was positioned along the stitching of the shorts covering Timmy’s sweaty crevice…

He swallows and palms himself through the thick denim.

His daydreaming is interrupted by Armie who bursts into his room. Just like on his very first day here – taking up all his space, his thoughts and his oxygen with that beautiful, tall frame and easy laughter. Still in shorts himself, with his sweaty hair forming tiny curls just above his sideburns. He presses his big hand on his chiselled and furry torso and strokes slowly, seductively.

“Busy?”

“Erm, no. Yes. _Maybe…_ ”

“Then _maybe_ I can help?”

Without waiting for an answer, Armie jumps on the bed, giggling, as he wrestles and pins Timmy down. Timmy pants heavily through hysterical fits of laughter and soon abandons all resistance with a pretend sulk that curves his beautiful lips teasingly.

“It is so unfair. You are much bigger than me…”

“I am, kitten. So much of me to love, eh?”

Armie embraces him with fondness and devotion that make his heart melt. He holds him tight and nuzzles raven curls, breathing the Italian magic of Timmy’s tiny, adored body and he doesn’t stop until he hears:

“Armie, I can’t… breathe…”

He kisses him until he no longer remembers what everything else tastes like. Fully immersed in the warm, earthy smell of this perfect, young human being that belongs in his arms. He licks every bit of exposed skin, hypnotised by its soft heat and salted caramel taste.

“Armie, I need a shower…”

“No, you don’t…”

Armie gently prods Timmy’s sweaty armpits with his nose, inhaling deeply.

“This scent drives me mad. Let me make a roadmap here, baby. This little drop here is from that apricot juice you drank this morning.”

Lick.

“Armie, you can’t lick my armpits…”

“And this one here is a by-product of your blushing when Luca paid you a compliment after the piano scene.”

Lick.

“And this one here was for me. When I grasped you from behind in Heaven, you were so hot and willing. I felt you, Timmy. Did you feel me?”

Lick. Lick. Lick.

“Armie, that tickles…Haha…”

“Stay still and let the cartographer finish this very important research work.”

“You are insufferable…”

Armie traces with his tongue his delicate fingers, forearm and makes hot circles around his elbow bone.

“These watermelon droplets from lunch… I have never seen a sexier thing than that fucking watermelon disappearing in your mouth and dripping all over you.”

“Do you watch everything that I do?”

“Always. Everything that you do is fascinating and so hot, Timmy.”

Armie’s tongue goes behind the knees, explores the ankles and playfully bites the soft tissue of his heels.

“And these are my favourite sweet cushions. That scorching grass was so unkind to my babies today…”

“My knight in shining armour…”

The soft, delicate whispers continue as Armie somehow finds more tender words for every millimetre of ivory skin. He wants to be a part of everything that makes Timmy flustered, surprised, embarrassed, horny. He wants the food that he eats and the hilarious growls of his tiny tummy that make Armie smile when he presses his ear there. Every tiny emotion that stirs his blood, that turns him crimson and blooms in his little heart. All that makes him who he is. He wants everything! He loves everything!

Armie gently pulls down the denim shorts as Timmy arches his back. He feels strong musky smell and nearly loses his mind before burying his face in this sweaty ocean of pleasure – mad, enchanted, poisoned.

“Armie, I really need to shower…”

“My sweet little peach is never dirty.”

Armie keeps Timmy hostage of his trembling lips and wet licks through the vibrations of his orgasm. He doesn’t need anything else in the world – only Timmy’s scent and pulse near his mouth and his sated smile when he falls asleep in his arms…

Heaven indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was overwhelmed by the positive response to the first one (Thanks a million!), so here are some more sweaty adventures for the armpit community.

The wonderful aroma of freshly cut green grass, sweat, lavender and home-made apricot jam tickles Armie’s nose as he wakes up close to midday. Cicada songs and distant bicycle bell sounds haunt the room as the sun rays slowly seep through the curtains.

No filming today.

His cheek is resting on Timmy’s milky thigh and he nuzzles his face against the smooth softness of his balls.

“I want to sleep here” Armie said last night, placing his head between Timmy’s legs as the green eyes were already closing in a post-orgasmic bliss. “I want to breathe their scent all night and kiss them as soon as I wake up.”

Timmy’s head nodded approvingly and his light, flowery laughter fluttered above the bed seconds before his delighted snores put an adoring smile on Armie’s face. He hasn’t changed position since tiredness and contentment overtook him. A carefree starfish – legs spread open and arms up like a baby, exposing the soft hair of his armpits. It is an arresting sight that makes Armie feel emotional and protective. He strokes them very gently with the tips of his fingers – they are silky, damp and perfect. Armie sniffs and licks his fingers with his eyes closed, savouring the pleasure. His lips barely touch the velvety skin of Timmy’s scrotum and he inhales deeply.

This scent is pure magic!

He doesn’t want to wake him up yet. His only desire is to look at him. Trusting, angelic and naked. Each part of him exposed and his heart, body and soul surrendered unconditionally to Armie. He knows how strong, yet vulnerable his arms are when he wraps them around Armie’s neck. And also how deep his beautiful fingers can dig when Timmy grasps his thighs. And how nicely they fit around his cock.

Timmy loves stroking him with both hands and giving him the sloppiest, wettest blowjobs as he looks him in the eye. Timmy usually caresses his whole length with his cheek first before burying his nose and mouth in his pubes. Armie is genuinely amused to see this – his cock is longer than Timmy’s entire face from temple to chin and he looks enormous in these bony hands. The sin on these swollen and inexperienced but eager lips melts his insides and robs him of his voice, his reason and his sanity. He thinks, choked by emotion, how he would trade his soul to have these moments forever.

It is as if he has always been in this sunny apartment and Timmy has been a permanent fixture in his life forever. Making crumbs in his bed. Using his shaver. Trawling his dirty laundry basket to find crimpled Billowy.

“You are not wearing this, are you?” Armie gasped as he saw him putting the pale blue shirt on. Yellow patches were visible under the armpits.

“We have no clean clothes, Armie. I might as well wear my favourite thing.”

“What would Elio say?”

“That I am sick, probably. Before fighting me for it.”

“Elio’s strange fetishes are contagious. You are so alike…”

“Are we?”

“What do you think?”

“That the sick bits are entirely my own and we should leave poor Elio out of it.”

He is completely swamped by the large, wrinkled fabric and he is a debauched, dangerous sight. A few buttons in the middle are hastily done up, his bony shoulder and collarbone are exposed and the pink, spongy head of his long cock peeks under the fabric. Armie sucks him off before putting him on all fours and licking his tight hole, his hands fisting Billowy between his throaty moans. He presses his whole body alongside Timmy’s lithe frame and nuzzles his shoulder blades, soaking in the mixed scent of their sweat.

There is something both frightening and reassuring about Armie’s full knowledge of this slender body and its impulses. He knows how Timmy tilts his head to the left and bites his lips seconds before he comes. And how he loves Armie’s dried cum smeared on his hair and worn proudly in public – a dirty, cheeky little secret that puts silly smiles on their faces. Timmy’s unashamed wide yawns when he wakes up with his taste on his tongue. Armie wants to look at this open mouth and remember the soft bite of every tooth and the wet touch of his epiglottis.

“You have millions of my little Armies swimming inside you” Armie said once with infinite pride as he licked his open mouth, willing to savour their mixed taste.

“Here and here” he rubbed Timmy’s puffy dripping rim before feeding him the savoury drops and invading his mouth with a hungry kiss.

“Do you think they’ll meet in the middle?” Timmy laughed. A thousand jingling bells, clear and precious.

“I think they already have. Many times. They argue who’s had a longer swim and who is more tired right now.”

“You heard that?”

“What do you think all these rumbling noises here are then? They speak to me only though”

 He planted a wet kiss on his tiny belly.

“Armie…I am scared.”

“Why, kitten?”

“Because I will not find anyone else in this world to have this insane but so important conversation with…Ever”

Armie swallows and hides his stinging eyes in the dark softness of Timmy’s crotch.

Heaven is here and now...

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, time for some dirty poetic smut. Cherry pie anyone? :)

The afternoon wind whispers above acres of lush grassland and ruffles Armie’s hair with flowery fingers. Timmy’s heavy breathing behind him almost caresses his neck as they ride their bikes through viridescent rolling hills, winding dirt roads and warm puddles. 

Crema’s rustic charm lingers in a beautiful conglomeration of colours, sights, noises and scents. They both love the warm hug of Lombardy - earthy as the deep brown colour of the soil under them. Crumbly, inviting and sweet like the motherly smile of the old lady who gave them homemade panettone and morello cherries from her garden. Lazy and majestic like the distant peaks of Alpi Orobie resting in the afternoon haze. Tender and seductive like the quiet babble of the stream that runs beside the road.

Armie stops to catch his breath and licks his salty, dry lips. Timmy slows down and drinks his strapping stature with thirsty eyes as Armie lifts his water bottle and gulps large mouthfuls. His beautiful Armie in nothing but a pair of sexy red shorts. 

His caring voice when he asks: “Are you tired, baby?” is clear and dreamlike as the song of the meadow lark. He catches Timmy’s gaze. The fresh liquid drips on his naked hairy chest and Timmy’s mouth waters. He can see the alluring curve of his ass under the shorts - sweaty and round and a sensuous beam of satisfaction stretches his lips.

“I am. Can we rest for a bit?”

Armie nods and stretches his arms. His armpit hairs are blond and glisten in the sunshine like sparks from a naughty fire that burns right in Timmy’s heart. 

Timmy’s loving smile becomes wider.

“You asked me about the scene once, Armie, remember?”

Armie can’t understand at first.

“Elio’s red shorts scene. You said that I was probably more me that day than in any other scene…”

“I did. It still bugs me that I wasn’t on set and I couldn’t see it. Everyone said it was amazing, baby…”

“Do you want to see for yourself?”

Armie gives Timmy a puzzled look. 

“How?”

Timmy looks around. Armie suddenly gets it.

“You mean...like…a private performance, especially for me?”

Timmy nods. Armie’s cock twitches and his shorts start to feel painfully tight. 

“Well, let me see.” Timmy’s voice suddenly cracks. “Miles and miles of tall field corn plants – check. Luca’s picnic blanket in my backpack – check. Not a soul in sight - check. Red shorts – check. Horny 20-old – check…”

“You…want…the sweaty shorts…that…I am wearing now?” The arousal in Armie’s voice is almost as well-defined as the tent that now strains his only item of clothing.

“True to the story and all that…”

They push the bikes far off the road and toss them aside when all they can hear is the murmur of the corn leaves. The blanket embraces the warm ground between the corn rows…

Timmy gets closer. He is all breath and quickened pulse as he slowly licks the salt in Armie’s armpits.

“I have always wanted to do it for you too…”

“Timmy…”

Armie’s head spins as he fondles Timmy’s neck while he steadily goes down and pulls the shorts down with his teeth. Armie gasps as sloppy, maddening licks cover his sweaty glans…

Timmy has the shorts now and he sniffs them before licking inside them with voracious appetite. He never breaks eye contact. Armie almost faints, feeling both exposed and sheltered. Caressed. Accepted. 

“And I…put them over…my head. Wanted to drown and…suffocate… gorgeous smell. Thought about your… cock and ass being in here… all day. And I…arched my back…like this…”

Timmy kneels on the blanket with the shorts on his head. Each sexy word is a muffled whisper as his small pert ass moves rhythmically. He looks one with the ground beneath him – an organic metaphor of everything that is young, potent and divine. His head is a beautiful red hibiscus kissed by sunshine and his naked back - its tender stem that sways in the wind.

“And I…imagined you…coming…in my room. Tearing my shorts off…eating me out…before ripping me apart…with your huge…dick.”

Armie wonders how this tiny, lean body can accumulate so much sex appeal. He watches and swallows, transfixed, but his desire to touch, conquer and devour overtakes him. He wants to BE the impulse that now burns Timmy’s loins, the sweat on his belly, the gasp on his plump lips.

His tongue licks and savours every inch of Timmy – the moisture on his skin, the dust, the musky fragrance that decorates the fine hairs of his ass like an onyx ring. He fingers him gently, rubs and sucks his tight sphincter muscle, admiring the tender, rosy skin. 

“My soft pink curtain guarding the gate of Heaven…” 

“You are always so poetic about my hole…”

“I love it. My small honeyed entrance. I can eat it all day…”

“I know you can…But don’t you want to enter Heaven now?”

“Oh, Timmy…”

Each thrust is a firework that spreads rainbows in Armie’s eyes. 

Nature, life, creation. 

Skin to skin, blood to blood. A second and a lifetime…

“Us, mortals always want to steal something from Heaven” Armie says when they lie down. 

“Will this make you feel like a God?” Timmy’s exhale is filled with contented curiosity and his peachy butt with sticky cum. 

“Every time with you is blissful and sublime. But I want to taste the food of the Gods.”

A handful of morello cherries still sit in the front pocket of Timmy’s backpack. Armie picks one, dives between Timmy’s twitching legs and finds the sweet portal there, now relaxed, open and leaking ambrosia. 

The ripe cherry goes in before Timmy clenches the muscle and expels the dark fruit pulp mixed with semen in Armie’s mouth. 

“The cream and cherry pie of immortality.”

Then their tongues meet, sharing the bright purple mess in a holy act of complete surrender. Armie refuses to believe that Timmy is a different person when his tired head rests on his forearm. He can’t breathe, his heart melts with emotion in the summer sun. 

“He too is Alexander.” 

Armie catches a distant echo in his mind and knows without a hint of doubt that this much love will kill him, but he will step on the pyre willingly anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thought I will write three chapters about sweat but actually I have even more ideas now. Thanks to MJ who gave me some lovely prompts, I honoured some of them here and I will use some of the others for the next chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More adventures in the corn fields. Laughter, teasing and unabashed happiness. Timmy takes charge...

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…

Isn’t this the most perfect sound? Timmy thinks as he presses his ear on Armie’s chest. Calm and contented.

The peppery wind was starting to quiet down in the scorching late afternoon as they lied exhausted in the corn fields. They had the sweet and sour taste of cherries, semen and ass juice on their lips. And sprinkled promises whispered as a lullaby in Timmy’s tangled curls. Sobbed words of love uttered in Armie’s ear in the moment of ecstasy when Timmy came with Armie’s cock deep in his tummy and his own toes curling in Armie’s mouth.

There were the small beetles – picked from the ground and put on Timmy’s translucent skin. His throaty laugh when they tickled him, and he had to stifle the screeching sounds in Armie’s embrace.

And the long minutes of slothful happiness when they observed the gossamer clouds swimming slowly in the sky and changing their ephemeral shapes. 

“I quit” Armie roared, unable to handle his elation as Timmy said “cock” about 12 times in the last five minutes.

“So many books, such fine education, yet no imagination at all. Tsk, tsk.”

“My imagination is a hungry beast…” 

“Isn’t this a kid song?”

More laughter.

“I have a really good imagination, Mr Hammer…”

“Really?”

“You see that cloud there? This is not a cock. It is YOUR cock.”

The pink discus of the setting sun stops to see them wrestling, kicking and giggling until their lungs hurt…Beautiful. Young. Naked. In love.

 

****

 

Armie could still feel the fresh, unrefined smell of corn on his fingers. A thin plait of corn silks now rests on Timmy’s head – a small token of Armie’s love.

“Why are you doing this?” Timmy asked, almost choked by curiosity and joy as he saw the huge fingers working the fine threads with patience and tenderness.

“Because I want to give you something...That is beautiful and pure like you…Something of the earth…And because when I do something like this…with my fingers you might not notice… how much they tremble…now…Because if I stop for a minute and…think about how happy I am right now…my heart will…burst, Timmy.”

Armie’s eyes are watery and there is a ball of fire in his throat when he finally puts the small wreath on the soft curls and draws him closer, breathing him in. Timmy is silent for a while, resting his head under Armie’s armpit and wiping his nose, suddenly all runny and stuffy. A soft baby chick seeking a warm wing for shelter…

 

****

 

“Aren’t you just the softest, sloppiest giant ever?” Timmy says when they finally part and he regains the ability to speak. Then he jumps on Armie again and throws his arms around him. Armie topples over and lets Timmy explore his mouth, neck and nipples with deep, hungry kisses.

Armie gasps in surprise as Timmy’s delicate hands find the superhuman strength to drag and lift his whole body until his thighs rest on Timmy’s. Another move and his round ass is up in the air and Timmy’s fingers are grasping the warm insides of his legs. Armie’s knees are almost touching his own shoulders. The giant is curled up into a ball and at the mercy of his beautiful boy...

“Timmy…what?”

“Now I want you to give me everything, Armie…”

Armie can lick the head of his own cock. It is a strange position – uncomfortable and oh, so vulnerable but Armie wouldn’t want to change anything. He can see Timmy’s beautiful, long tongue only about a foot from his face as it invades the crack of his ripe, sweaty ass and his heart stops in his chest. It is dirty, holy, captivating. Armie can feel the taste of animalistic desires upholstered with parts of his soul that make him more fulfilled than ever before. Did he even try to make love in the past? Who were they? And did he ever? All was a blur as none of it could be compared to THIS.

“Oh, God…”

Timmy begins to circulate between Armie’s hole and his open, inviting mouth with languid, wet determination. It is an endless, maddening cycle that forms sweaty, musky maelstroms in Timmy’s lizard brain.

Armie touches the dark curls, sinks his fingers in the corn wreath and weeps partially incoherent words of pleasure and gratitude.

“You…are…heavenly…”

Timmy watches the sweet hole turning dark pink in his mouth before blooming and opening like a dewy morning flower. Armie’s pulse is now prominent on his tongue. His intense and trusting eyes beg for more. With every lick Timmy grows more powerful and he is now completely convinced that the beautiful, rosy, pumping muscle that he tastes is Armie’s heart. Beating outside his chest, small and sweet, given to him completely and unreservedly.

He looks at Armie – little and exposed when deprived of his giant frame, and believes, wants to take this contorted, adored human being with him anywhere. In his pocket, on his collar. Never apart…

“Can I..?” is a bare breath near Armie’s ear but permission is not necessary. Timmy can do anything he wants to his body without even asking. It is his to love, tease, adjust and harmonize.

Armie’s brief moment of vocal pain when Timmy’s cock enters him is extinguished on his lips in a suffocating kiss. Timmy is gentle but insistent "It's OK, it's OK, don't hold back, my love". A novice glassmaker stunned by the crystal’s ability to be spun thin. Armie gives his whole hot body and lets Timmy give him the form he wants. For the first time in his life he feels like he is in someone’s possession. He doesn’t know a way back from this and he is not sure he wants to find it…

When they lie down after, the corn plants stay completely still. Their leaves form a spiky green frame for the darkening sky above them. A piece of the Universe painted on a canvas of captured bliss. Their sky.

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so kind, sweet and supportive. <3


	5. Chapter 5

***  
“I am going to tell you something that nobody has ever told you before” Timmy said one balmy night when the fat ochre moon was climbing above the tree crowns in the sky over Lombardy. 

Filming was coming to an end. Soon.

“I am all ears.” Armie replied and a sweet, feathery snigger flickered on his lips for a short second. He crossed his fingers behind his head as he lied down in the fragrant ryegrass. 

“Dolbear's law says that it is possible to know the temperature outside (Fahrenheit) by counting the number of a cricket's chirps in 14 seconds and adding 40 to that number.”

“Eh… what?”

“I knew you haven’t heard this one…”

“But I thought…”

“That I’ll be waxing lyrical about you and me…I am not doing that!” 

Armie lifts his body and gets closer. The overgrown gardens of Villa Albergoni feel safe and familiar around him. During the day, they buzz with the friendly banter of their large film crew. But at night, when the old bones of the 16th century house crack under a blanket of twinkling stars and the wind caresses the willow trees, all of this is theirs. Only theirs. 

“Nevermind…You are such an annoying smart ass.” Armie utters through gritted teeth.

Hot breath ghosting over raven curls. Limbs tangling.

“I never want to…touch you…again”

His hands are suddenly everywhere.

“Never…want to kiss…this… know-it-all mouth…of yours…”

Armie’s tongue goes deeper in Timmy’s throat than ever before.

“Ever again…”

Timmy sits up seeking more skin, lips, hair, breath. Anything. 

“Not…willing to undress you, Armie…Why would I do that?”

Shirt is pulled over Armie’s head.

“Not telling you…anything…Not going to remember…anything” 

Timmy wriggles in a desperate attempt to cover all of Armie’s body with parts of himself.

“I am not going to remember…the way you taste here…and here…”

Licks over nipples and armpits. 

“Your small scar here…”

Kisses rain on Armie’s chest.

“That sweet dimple above… your belly button. These three freckles here…”

Wet trail glistens on Armie’s belly.

“I will forget everything, Armie.”

Cocks hardening. Voices cracking.

“And I will go…through life…without thinking…about you between my legs…the morello cherries…and the clouds…and the corn silk…Why would I…?”

“I” is a small whimper in the darkness. 

“Look at me” Armie whispers, cupping Timmy’s jaw and kissing his eyelids. “Shut up! I hate you, I hate you, do you hear me? I hate you…”

And if their eyes are moist and sparkly in the sultry dusk, no one can see them.

***

“Armie, do you want me to tell you…”

“Not playing that game again.”

“Why?”

A sweet laughter cushioned somewhere between cheekiness and despair. 

“Do you know some obscure details about the mating rituals of Italian tree frogs?”

“No, something much, much better…”

Timmy lifts his slender hand and points towards the villa.

“Do you want me to show you something?”

“Now?”

A silent nod in the darkness. 

***

“Close your eyes” Timmy says as they enter the building and he leads Armie in.

They pass through the silent corridors breathing in the unique musty smell. Soft streaks of light from the old chandeliers envelope the stone walls and the timber-coffered ceilings. The paintings on them come to life. Primavera by Boticelli, The creation of Adam by Michelangelo, The tribute money by Masaccio…

“Great legs by the way” Timmy thinks looking at the guy in the red tunic in the last painting. “But I still prefer yours…” he says out loud squeezing Armie’s thigh with hunger. His whole body shivers so hard, the parquet floor is squeaking under his feet. 

“You can look now.”

“Wow!” Armie says as he opens his eyes. And he sees it in the middle of the room – a beautiful mahogany billiards table standing on four superb turned tulip legs…

“Tavolo da billiardo.” Timmy says. 

“WOW…I have never been to this room. Is this where Violante keeps his treasures?”

“This isn’t one of our props. It is the only piece of furniture that was here originally…This, however, is one of Violante’s treasures…”

Timmy reaches to the side table and grabs the whisky decanter.

“Puni Alba single malt” Timmy says triumphantly before removing the crystal stopper with his teeth.

“I thought Italians were wine drinkers. And besides, how do you know THAT?” 

“I drink and I know things.”

“You will be the death of me, Tyrion Chalamet…”

Armie laughs and crushes him in a bear hug. 

“Now tell me…” Timmy begins. “Do you want to know more about the mating rituals of young American Jewish men in Italy?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I drink and I know things" is Tyrion Lannister's (Game of thrones) life philosophy. 
> 
> There is such a thing as Dolbear's law! Google it. :)
> 
> There is a guy with long legs in The tribute money by Masaccio. He wears a very short red tunic. Google him. :) 
> 
> The billiard table is as imagined by me. It doesn't exist. :)
> 
> Violante is Call me by your name set director Violante Visconti di Modrone.
> 
> Armie and the pool table. Well, I couldn't pass this one, surely?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be for everyone...

The whisky gives their cheeks a warm glow and puts salacious sparkles in their eyes. 

Timmy loves seeing this new side of Armie. His strong hips suddenly look slender and flexible as he moves around the pool table. Every small interaction is a sensual lesson in seduction: from the unabashed flirting of their brushing fingers when they exchange the chalk holder to Armie’s deliberate sluttiness as he leans along the rails in slow motion. His gestures are almost obscene as he moves the cue stick between his fingers. He rubs and teases the polished wood and the tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth…

He strikes the cue ball hard and utters a gasp of mid-coital intensity. The sound floats in the old house, eerie and tempting. Timmy watches and swallows flustered and horny, before moving silently behind Armie and placing his hands on his waist. Hard buttocks rub against his crotch to the sound of invisible music. The paintings on the walls deepen in colour and begin to swirl as Timmy breathes in sweat and musk-scented dreams. 

“You are such a tease” Timmy whispers in his ear as he grinds closer and closer and lifts Armie’s shirt up to reveal the smooth expanse of his golden skin. 

“Gorgeous…delicious.”

Timmy mumbles and places wet kisses along the curves of his spine before swerving and burying his nose and mouth in the moisture of Armie’s armpit. Armie hits the baize with a thud and a groan. Balls rattle as they roll in all directions. 

Timmy dips his tongue in the tumbler before licking vigorously every soft, rust coloured hair in this precious spot. Nothing tastes better than salty Armie mixed with some burnt herbs, clove and sweet vanilla. He is so beautiful with his long fluttering eyelashes and trembling lips. Melting on Timmy’s tongue, liquid, transparent…

“Can you do something for me?” Tim’s gravelly voice is going straight to Armie’s cock.

“Anything, baby…”

A naughty grin, a hasty “Wait!” and Timmy’s steps echo in the building before he returns 30 seconds later. He is holding something. Armie recognises a familiar looking floaty silk in dark orange. 

“Can you…ermm…put it on…for…me, Armie?”

Armie almost dies from a potent mixture of shock and arousal.

“You want me to do WHAT?”

It is exactly what it looks like, he is not mistaken. 

“Annella Perlman’s special occasion dress???”

“I want to…fuck you in this dress, Armie. Je veux te baiser de toutes les manières. Before you ask…Yes, I am…sick and twisted…”

This is it! Armie thinks. All that he has ever known about boundaries, rules, desires, shame and sanity is shredded to pieces. There is only HIM – this delicate, otherworldly creature that holds in his hands the burnt orange of Armie’s unexplored roads. And the new definitions of his tentative nature. 

“Well, if you want to fuck me in your film momma’s dress, doesn’t this make you a dirty motherfucker?” 

****

Timmy watches Armie’s impossibly long limbs seeking their way through the thin diaphanous fabric. The wing sleeves dance over his defined biceps when he meets Timmy’s eyes with a shy, almost chaste smile that brightens his stubbly face. His furry chest strains the décolletage and his Star of David glistens over the flaxen hairs. 

Armie’s scandalised masculinity takes a deep breath and retreats behind the innocence of two curious blue eyes. And Timmy sees it in their azure depths - the unmistakable impatience of a neophyte, eager and virtuous. 

Waiting. 

To please. To share. To experience. To give. 

“Who are you?”

“A man with many faults. I am a body that wants to follow the thread of every pleasure path with you. And a mind that dares to dream silly dreams…sometimes…”

“No…”

Timmy’s breath ghosts over the sheer silk as he devours Armie’s nipples through the fabric, leaving large wet patches. 

“You are a banished fairy. You grew too tall in the human world, but your soul is still a gentle butterfly. And I am giving back to you your pretty things…and your wings.”

Timmy fists the dress, enjoying the smoothness against his fingers and lifts it to reveal Armie’s strong thighs and his mouth-watering cock underneath. He dives under and lets the dress cover him completely – a cheeky groom seeking to take off his new wife’s garter...

****

It’s hot and sweaty under the layers of textile. Timmy takes Armie’s spongy glans in his mouth and circles it with tiny licks before sucking wetly. 

“Harder, baby…” Armie hovers over the remnants of his own voice, once deep and hoarse but now fruity and brittle.

Timmy moves his head enthusiastically, deep-throating Armie until his eyes water and his uvula hurts. 

Loud slurps. Gagging. Heavy panting.

Timmy emerges with a huge grin oh his face when Armie’s knees have turned to jelly and there are sweaty crescents under his arms. 

“Lie down for me, ma petite salope.”

The firmness in Timmy’s husky voice is mellowed with warmth and desire. He watches, spellbound, as his blond giant lies down on the baize - all 6 ft 5 in of him, legs akimbo, fully spread for his beloved boy, beseeching with his whole body…

“Take me. Destroy me…”

A debauched vision of sweaty silk, pleading eyes and a twitching erection that leaves moist traces on his belly. 

Timmy licks the arches of his feet before moving further up – ankles, knee pits, the firm sweetness of his inner thighs. His teeth gently bite the hipbone and the scrotum before he reaches the treasured aim behind Armie’s balls. He stops and rubs his nose there and thinks of the beautiful intimacy of this moment. The smell, the taste and this gentle hot breath teasing just before Timmy parts the pert butt cheeks and starts alternating between broad, firm licks and delicate tickles circling Armie’s opening.

Slow. And fast. Barely there. Pressure. Wait. Attack. Stop. Barely there. And fast again. 

Armie is no longer present when Timmy lifts his face to meet his eyes. He has disappeared in a blend of convulsions and soft sobs muffled by the dress that now covers his shoulders and head. 

“Hey hey!” Timmy now enters him with a soothing whisper, stretching him and adding two slick fingers to massage his prostate. Armie wriggles and his throaty vocal response hits the stone walls like a hammer. This version of Armie can get frighteningly insatiable and vigorous in a matter of seconds - pushing boundaries in a desperate search of an orgasm. This Armie doesn’t like rainbows and unicorns and his hot blood yells “Release”. He also doesn’t like gentle sex, but he wants to be held gently after…

And here he is, constrained in orange silk, bound, Timmy’s, a dissolute sight that sticks the middle “see ya, fuckers!” finger at mouldy concepts. 

Gender. Morals. Aesthetics.

Fuck this! Timmy thinks. The people who have created the principles concerned with the nature and appreciation of beauty have never seen Armie’s hairy ass in a dress! 

Give me this any day and watch me burn! Armie’s brain screams. I want nothing else but to give him ALL: my body, my soul…

He finds Timmy’s hand and places it on his throat…

M.Y L.I.F.E!

Push me, throttle me…

Watch me passing out and bring me to life with a kiss…


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Тhere is a wilted dandelion in his tangled hair – a small dying sun in the dark Universe of his curls. I put it there yesterday. “Shine! Shine!” – I said as I held him close and ironed every sweet wrinkle on his freckled nose with my lips.  
> Tomorrow is today…

Is it purring or snoring? I can never tell. He is all soft sounds, sweat and miles of alabaster skin as he lies on his tummy in the early hours of the morning. It is my favourite time of the day - just when the summer wakes up and walks barefoot on our balcony, planting wet kisses on the scarlet geraniums.

He is oblivious to everything around him, naked and resting in the warm embrace of his multi-coloured dreams. They scamper behind his eyes, vivid and sweet.

And he is more mine than ever, for no one can take him away from me during these precious moments. Yet. When he is claimed with my fingerprints on his pert bottom and my breath still lingering over his collarbones.

Two rows of sparkly crystal beads rest on his tiny waist, a reminder of our last raid of Giulia’s prop box. This time we ended up with two long 80s style necklaces. Both pretty and reflective, with all the colours of the rainbow and a subtle vintage tint. I held them up and jokingly said that they could fit around his waistline. After all, my thumbs and middle fingers meet so easily when I am encircling him, digging hard into his pearly skin. My very own spoiled Scarlett O’Hara nodded approvingly. He watched me doing up the clasps with trembling fingers, just below his prominent ribs.

Curious. Breathless. Aroused.

Later, when I came all over the beads, the green eyes swam in indescribable bliss. They didn’t belong to his face. To any face. To any feeling that our hearts are destined to experience or understand. Liquefied, transcending, promising…And so sorrowful in their allure when they held my gaze.

Two more days…

Тhere is a wilted dandelion in his tangled hair – a small dying sun in the dark Universe of his curls. I put it there yesterday. “Shine! Shine!” – I said as I held him close and ironed every sweet wrinkle on his freckled nose with my lips.

Tomorrow is today…

 

****

My eyes are firmly fixed on Timmy’s back as he struts away, further and further. Warm drizzle settles in a fragrant mist over the piazza. I look through the rain stained window and make a mental note of the lifespan of each drop hitting the dusty pavement.

“I know” Luca exhales as he pats my shoulder.

“How do you…?” I start. “How can I deal with…this? In two weeks, all of this will be over…”

“You learn to pace your life around it…”

He rolls his vowels pleasantly and gives me a nonchalant shrug.

“You relive it, transform it and you give it back to the world. Cry, Armie. Sing. Paint. Or act…You don’t need me to tell you this.”

Luca always knows. And he has such faith in me, he even believes that I know too. I can only hug him and hide my face in his burgundy sweater.

“Well, I cry much more often than I’d like to admit. I am a terrible singer. And an actor, Luca. You know there was never any acting in this movie, don’t you?”

His fond smile melts me inside and then I hear his voice again.

“So what’s the one that you haven’t tried yet?”

 

****

 

I’ll call it purring, I decide, and I sit in front of my painting easel. Aquamarine streaks, violet spirals and sunbeam yellow dots fill up the canvas. My fingers feel stiff, then strangely relaxed. I am hesitant at first and almost bold after. I am the fire that crawls inside my skin and the mournful flood that puts it away. I was merely a flickering candle tip when I met the boy with fingers made of moonlight and lips like strawberry wine.

It was a lifetime away…

Tick-tock, tear-tock, goodbye-tock, forget-me-not-tock. The clock on the wall speaks this strange language. Silence! I’d polish your glass and your ebony, and the little stupid curve on your roof forever. Please!

 **JUST** …(And why does a clock need a roof anyway? Maybe it rains inside. The building’s old. There are cracks in the ceiling)

 **PROMISE ME** …(It is expensive to maintain. Maybe I am also a little clock, a sad slave of time who is polished by the bored hands of normality **)**

 **THAT TOMORROW** … ("Tomorrow" exists only in the mental realm, silly clock. Me and him exist now)

 **NEVER COMES** …

His breathing changes. I have never been more aware of anyone’s body in my life. Even my own. If I collect the tender caresses I have given him, there will be one for each silky strand of hair covering his pretty head, starting from that naughty swirl at the top. I have eaten quiet breathy moans from every air sac of his and I know without a doubt that he smiles behind my back now. Almost awake, lids still too heavy, morning breath and warm willowy arms that can’t wait to pull me close.

“Hey.”

“Hey…”

“Is this me? I look somewhat…er…fragmented.”

“Of course, it’s not you. You overestimate your own importance.”

“Come here, Picasso.”

I move towards him still holding my palette. The beads caper around him when he moves between the sheets and playful flecks of light dapple the ceiling. Timmy looks like a vision out of 1001 nights – a precious gem that Sinbad the Sailor might have found on his exotic adventures on the other side of the world.

“What do you have here? Can I have some of it?”

He leans so close that one of his unruly curls tickles my shoulder before sniffing me and biting me gently. He does this sometimes, just to remind me that I can be edible if he decides so.

He dips his finger in magenta and puts some on the tip of my nose. And just out of the blue, as always, he says something that pulls me apart with its blend of purity and eroticism.

“Your canvas is boring and cold. Use me…”

 ****


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are close to the end, peaches. :)

 

Timmy…Or Timme, as Luca calls him, elongating and opening the last syllable with pure adoration in his voice. Timme!

Ti – the Italian “you” and “me”. All the “you”s and “me”s in my life and all my futile searches rewarded in the glorious moment when I saw your precious face.

“Ti” and “Me”. And TIME! Oh, how I fear TIME…

The few steps I take towards the bed last a thousand years. I have more faces than anyone on Earth and yet I am faceless.

A sinner, an artist, a nomad, a tragic hero, a frightened man…

I follow Virgil’s steps through Inferno as a lost soul who has rejected “spiritual values by yielding to bestial appetites.” I am a thirsty Tantalus who knows that the water that gives me life will soon disappear through my fingers. And a desperate Pygmalion, who thanks and curses in the same breath. The Gods gave life to the marble statue in my bed only to take him away when I started to believe that the blood in his veins is real.

I move with the loneliness of all my future nights without him on my shoulders. And just like Atlas, I feel that I can hold up the sky for all eternity if only I can steal that little blazing star beyond the horizon to put in his hair every night.

He is waiting for me, fully aware of the magic spell his body casts over me. Light as a feather, his breath blows over his underarm hair and I get a whiff of him – ocean, salt, vanilla and last night Barbaresco.

“Powerful strokes or gentle pressure?” I ask.

“Whoa, this is developing quickly…”

“I am a professional. Any colour preferences?”

“Can the canvas be choosy?”

“The canvas can be choosy. And pretentious. And coquettish. And naughty.”

“How about romantic?”

“That’s not allowed, I am afraid.”

You.Have.No.Idea.

“Yellow. Please.”

The brush tip deflowers the mustard and I run the pointy end gently over the dip in his armpit, leaving a bright streak of yellow droplets over the short hairs.

“Yellow is for...this” I touch the shrivelled dandelion and he smiles. The hollow in his left cheek when he does this always disarms me. “And for tortelli cremaschi. And corn.”

“And for me puking over your sandals last week when I had too much polenta and Prosecco”

“So much about being romantic…”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to be.”

You.Really.Have.No.Idea.My.Sweet.Summer.Child.

“Now…red.”

Another stroke and a few tiny redcurrants ripen under his arm instantly.

“Red is for this…” I run a finger over his plush carmine lips. “And for private performances involving red items of clothing…”

“Now we are talking. And for cherries…”His voice becomes hushed before he casually spreads his legs and runs a moist finger over his tender rosebud.

My cock jumps against me. He always does the dirtiest things with the most innocent smile. And doesn’t he know it?

“Blue, maestro…”

And now he has a piece of a summer sky in that sweet spot that I have sniffed and kissed a million times.

“Blue is for the waters of Laghetto dei Riflessi…” Timmy starts.

“You ARE romantic, no shit. But blue is for “I am having the worst case of blue balls EVER right now!”

I poke his belly button with my nose and lick the beads before uttering a sinless “Help!” and bursting out laughing.

“Give me this.” Timmy reaches out for the brush. The protruding lower lip is here again. I suck it very gently and bite the tip of his nose. Believe me, Timmy! Don’t question the nervous laughter that dwells over my anguish now. Laugh with me or kill me now.

But just like every time, he understands every subtle change in emotion and wraps me in a bony hug.

“I’ll miss us, Armie.” He says it so simply, the short words piercing my heart. “Can you be my canvas now?”

When he starts painting over my chest and belly, I hold my breath in a doomed attempt to stop time.

I remember and relive. I dream and experience. Moods, feelings, anxieties. Prayers, whispers and moans.

Green sadness stares at me, a forlorn child begging for warmth. Something appears quickly, barely there but so sweet. Blue innocence rides the crimson horses of passion through the winds of my heart. Something unreadable blooms and then subsides. I hear laughter, birdsong, soft rustle of leaves and a babbling brook. Something fleeting. I feel peachy skin exploding under my touch like a Bengal flare. And lips that drive me mad even now, when he has his serious, focused face on.

“It’s done.” He says shyly and releases a held breath.

I lift myself to have a look and I realise that I have a giant flying dick with hairy balls and huge eyes painted on my torso.

“Come heeeeere!” I shriek as he drops the brush and tries to escape. He doesn’t get far as my legs are very long and I trip him up. I laugh so much when he collapses on me and I slap his naughty little butt repeatedly. I tickle him to full exhaustion and gnaw on every bit of soft skin I can reach. I almost suffocate him in my tight embrace, but I want more. He wheezes, growls and squeals before crying “Tregua?” in my ear. We are a human ball of sweat, paint and hard cocks when we stop and look into each other’s eyes.

“We are two VERY temperamental canvasses.” Timmy says and kisses me with force that almost breaks my nose. “Come…”

We both stand in front of the easel by the window. He grabs my cock driven by the boldness of his youth and I follow suit. His warm girth feels lovely. Familiar. Special.

“Is there a word for the wedding ritual where they have a toast with their arms entwined?”

“Eh?”

“That’s what this reminds me of…” Timmy shrugs.

“Easy with my champagne flute though, unless you want to follow the Jewish wedding tradition where they break the glass.”

“Relax, big boy, yours is unbreakable…”

I fondle his jaw, soaking in every line of his smiling face and then there is an outpour. Words, visions, scrambled thoughts. He is almost feverish, lost…

“I want to look you in the eye…when I am coming…and when you are coming.”

He rubs me and squeezes my balls. I scratch his scrotum gently.

“I want to see what I can do to you…How your knees turn to jelly after this…”

His finger massages my wet slit. My palm moves over his shaft skin.

“Let us finish this picture…with our mixed DNA.”

He jerks me off slowly at first, then quickens the pace. I use his breathing for guidance, it always tells me what he wants and how.

“A thousand years from now we still…will be together on this canvas…Inseparable.”

I sob out my grief and my pleasure in a strong, shattering orgasm. He follows shortly after as his tattered whispers give way to trembles and small whines.

“Little Armies and little Timmys… resting peacefully… in green and purple patterns. Forever!”

Our mixed cum covers the painting while we stifle each other’s s snivels. Me, in the warm darkness of his curls and Timmy – over my chest, while my heart is beating like a drum in his ear.

He reaches out for the brush and slowly stirs the burnt sienna before reaching out for the tarp and writing neatly in the bottom right corner.

**AH & TC **

“AH is for Armpit Heaven actually.” he mutters.

“And TC is Traviamento, Crema.” I add.

“The other _via._ The only possible road? The hardest road? Or the only road we want to take? I never fully got it, Armie…”

“We’ll think of this tomorrow.” I say. “Come, baby. You have a giant purple dick smeared on your face…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is done! Thank you all for your support!

If happiness and heartbreak were dishes, they’d have the same ingredients: cracked paint, cum splotches, dried tears and a sprinkle of freckles. 

My pubes are painted pink and orange and so are his rosy hole and the corners of his plush, juicy mouth. He’s taken ALL of me, I think with a sense of pride and little concern. He seems so small and fragile as he sleeps on my lap now – opalescent skin with drops of colour all over, ruby lips and messy hair. I know that when he wakes up, he’d cry and smile through the peeling patterns on his face. And he would beg mindlessly, out of breath…

Delay your flight. Fuck me harder. Kiss me softer. Hold me longer.

And I would obey, doing all of them. Apart from the first one.

That last day will always live in my mind as both my Shangri-La* and my Golgotha*. And only with some divine force guiding and holding my quill, I might be able to describe one day how it feels. To ride and be ridden until every muscle in your body trembles and hurts. To mark someone with your sweat and your seed so that each atom of you feels claimed and shared. 

To have a silly affectionate name for every part of his body. Cherimoya*- for the white tasty flesh of his nose scattered with brown freckles-seeds. DeFuniak* – for the perfectly round dip of his belly button. Daddy long-legs for the soft cobwebs of his lashes. Biscotto*, Akoya*, Thumbelina and Country sausage – for every adorable finger and toe…

To hear a breathy “Marry me” in your ear before a small laugh announces: “I am kidding, I am kidding. Second-hand, long in the tooth, talentless painter. Nah!” To suck a miniature nipple, the size of a grain of rice, until it almost disintegrates in your mouth. To eat ass and have yours eaten through delicious orgasms that curl your toes and twist your guts. To slurp on hard cock all the way to oblivion when you no longer remember food or water. Only his inviting scent and the sweet-salty taste of a man who has just come in your mouth and given you all. Unashamedly sexual, primitive, quintessentially male, yet so cozy and beautiful.

****

“I want a story, Armie.” He says innocently and the little sunflowers around his irises smile and focus on me with childlike fascination. We are exhausted but neither of us wants to go to sleep because tomorrow brings the inevitable.

His head is on my chest and my fingers play with the silky waves. I find the dandelion and I am surprised to find that its shrivelled petals still smell like summer – dewy, fresh and polleny. 

I kiss the dead flower and cuddle Timmy to sleep before starting with a lullaby voice.

“Once upon a time there were two little dandelions. They loved the summer, the sunshine and the powerfully evocative smell of the first raindrops.”

“How about meatballs and wine?” That sweet voice again layered with buzzing bees, ripe peaches, Gattinara and creamy panna cotta. Euphonious. Edible. Drinkable. Unforgettable.

“That’s an unusual diet for a dandelion, don’t you think? And besides, this is my story and I choose the menu, OK?”

“Aren’t you happy I didn’t put “cock” on the menu this time?” 

“I am done with my cock consumption for the next 10 years” I groan.

“Who is talking about you?! Give me my dandelion story.”

“…One was pretty. And delicate. And open. Butterflies adored its soft petals. The other one has already matured into a silver puff ball.”

He strokes the few grey speckles scattered in my three-day stubble. 

“Yep, yep, getting there, old man…”

“The first one wanted to see the world from above, sheltered in the dark locks of a fair princess with extraordinary beauty.”

“We are entering Snow white territory here.” Timmy laughs again.

“The older one knew that this would separate them forever and suffered, for its flower heart was full of love for the young one. It stood quietly next to its precious beloved and was afraid to breathe because its small parachutes were so fragile and ready to scatter at any moment. And one day it happened. Seeking fingers, laughter, hair with the colour of morning coffee. Snap, and the young one was taken. The older one stood numb with pain, before exhaling strongly and embracing the wind…”

“I know how this ends…” When did Timmy’s voice gather so much sadness?

“Tell me…” I insist.

“The parachutes carrying the seeds flew higher and higher, above the trees, the vineyards and the gardens. And when they were so tired they couldn’t dance with the wind anymore, they found peace. In the armpit of the mountain…”

Biscotto goes in my armpit and strokes. Gently and slowly.

“…where all the tears and the sweat of the old rocks make beautiful waterfalls and lakes. On the shores of the blue eyes of the mountain where new dandelions will grow.” 

“You don’t know how this ends, silly. Because it doesn’t.”

I lift his chin and look him in the eye. 

“And I’ll never say a truer thing to anyone in my life. Long after the bones of anyone who remembers us have turned to dust, two human beings will sit on a picnic blanket by a lake. One of them will have a dandelion in their hair and both of them will have fire in their hearts. And on that glorious sunny day, it won’t matter if they were young or old, male or female, beautiful or ugly, purple or green. All that will matter will be the love they have for each other.”

 

I kiss his teary eyes. And I am pre-emptied of all future feelings I might have for others. He’s taken all and I don’t want it back. No more words needed. 

****

The morning finds us walking by Canale Vaccheli* and kneeling by a dandelion puff ball hidden in the tall grass. Our hands grasp it and our breaths join for one last time as we blow the white fuzz together. The wind catches it and lifts it towards the puffy clouds before our fingers part. We are totally silent. 

Later, when the predatory blue bus to Bergamo swallows my frame, he stands still at the bus stop. He wears Billowy, my dirty boxers, denim shorts and the saddest green eyes in the Universe. As the engine starts, he smiles, and his raised hand turns into a fist before a lonely middle finger emerges. Country sausage. He waves it at me before barely touching his cheekbone with the tip. 

A tear. But I didn’t see it, Timmy. Don’t worry!

And somewhere behind his back, over the peaks of Alpi Orobie, a small white parachute is landing next to Cascate del Serio.*

****

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shangri-La* - A fictional land of peace and perpetual youth  
> Golgotha*- A hill near Jerusalem where Jesus was crucified; Used here as a place of suffering or sacrifice.  
> Cherimoya* - Delicious fruit with creamy texture and brown seeds, also known as custard apple.  
> DeFuniak* - Lake DeFuniak, Florida, is one of the two almost perfectly round circular spring-fed lakes in the world.  
> Biscotto* - Italian for biscuit.  
> Akoya* - a type of Japanese pearls.  
> Canale Vaccheli* - a canal located in the northern part of Crema.  
> Cascate del Serio* - the tallest waterfall in Italy. Part of Elio and Oliver’s trip to Bergamo was filmed there.


	10. My notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My notes on the symbols and hidden meanings in Armpit Heaven. :)

**The Armpit**

Kinks can’t be explained in a simple way as very their meanings are deep, primal and archetypal. The armpit (axilla) to me is beautiful, vulnerable, sensual and erogenous but I am aware that it attracts conflicting opinions. They vary between the innocent, laughter provoking nature of tickling and the repulsion associated with sweat, body odour and armpit hair. Symbolically, many dream interpreters see it as a negative representation of suppressed emotions such as “undesirable, unwanted feelings of shame”.

That’s exactly why I “gave” Timmy’s armpits to Armie first. Armie is the one who always has a longer road ahead in terms of both accepting his emotions and leading a never-ending battle with the feelings mentioned above. Apart from pleasure, the armpit gives Armie that extra level of assurance that he seeks when it comes to sharing and intimacy – e.g. “if I can do this with him/to him, then it is love, because I have nothing but adoration for everything that his body does. If it is love, I needn’t have doubts/shame/guilt about it”. Timmy understands this and tries to help by acknowledging it and sharing the armpit kink.

Botanically speaking, there are more layers to this symbol. Axillary buds are the flower’s “ _bit on the side_ ”, the embryonic little ones that remain in the shadow of the flower that bloomed first. This doesn’t mean that they don’t have the potential to become the most beautiful flower ever (much like Armie and Timmy’s love!), but they are often doomed to take a step back, because the stem (society, social support) feeds the big flower (traditional values, family, straight sexuality). Time decides if the bud will become a pretty flower one day but sadly, the fate of axillary buds can be tragic. Overwhelmed and sidelined, they often die before having the chance to develop. Interestingly, the term “axilla” originates from an 17th century word that means “wing”. So Timmy and Armie are little lovebirds in more ways than we think. It’s all in the armpits. 😊

**The dandelion**

This little flower is a powerful symbol, seen by many as the sun, moon and stars in their stages of life; the yellow flower - the sun, airy white puffballs - a full moon, and seeds carried by the wind - stars. I have chosen it mainly because the boys have found the stars and it is true to the symbology of the book but also because it grasps transformation. Remember Oliver’s interpretation of Heraclitus: “ _Some things stay the same only by changing._ ”? And this quote too: “ _He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn't changed. Yet nothing would be the same._ ” Love transforms people and gives them eternity but to have this you need to understand your own contribution to it. The need to feed off each other, learn from each other, understand, accept, enjoy the other person’s every little peculiarity and adopt it as your own. The big picture – LOVE, stays the same but the people in it are changed, often for the better. According to flowermeaning.com, a dandelion means to “remember the cheerfulness of a sunny summer’s day when things seem bleak or dark.” Sensual Italian summer anyone? 😊 It also adds that even if you think of it as a pest, rather than a beautiful flower, it shows the ability to rise above life’s challenges and to heal emotional pain. Armie and Timmy didn’t go to Italy expecting to fall in love. But their little “pest” love proved to be one of the most fulfilling experience of their lives. The planting of the dandelion seed at the end puts everything “right” in the order of the Universe. Their love can’t produce offspring in the traditional sense of the word but gives us something way more important and meaningful – love that goes beyond generations and remains forever young.

**The cherries and the corn**

It goes deeper than popping Timmy’s cherry, although that’s the most obvious explanation. 😃 it starts with the cherry blossom – one of the most beautiful and short-lived things that exist to remind us how short life is and how rare the moments of true happiness are. Timmy, with his pale skin and carmine lips reminds me of a geisha – one that can perform “a wild and outrageous” _kabuki,_ a glorious and fragile erotic vision in the shadows of the blossoming cherry trees.

Ripe cherry fruit are a well-known representation of vitality, youth and sensuality. Remember the cherry pie and their conversation about the food of the Gods? I haven’t made that up. The Chinese did, thousands of years ago: Cherries contains the elixir which gives the Gods their immortality! On a more practical side, because I was asked “But what happened to the cherry pit?”, I feel obliged to say: He didn’t get cyanide poisoning, don’t worry! It’s all behind him now. 😃

The corn carries a similar meaning. A very powerful life and fertility symbol in Mayan mythology for instance, it represents the origin of life and the flesh of man that was the gift of the Father. It has the spirit of the seed of eternal life, and frequently the umbilical cord of a newborn child was cut over an ear of corn. Their love is not only a rebirth, it rewrites everything that they know about passion, feelings and life. When that happens, they lie on the soft ground and watch the clouds, once again  a peaceful symbiosis between Earth and Sky: “ _Sky-father spoke to the Earth-mother and said, 'Yet not alone shalt thon he helpful unto our children, for behold!' and he spread his hand abroad with the palm downward, and into all the wrinkles and crevices thereof he set the semblance of shining yellow corn grains.”_

Pay close attention to the _crevices_ , everyone. 😃

**The dress**

Armie desperately needed that dress as a sobering tool, as a welcome release from taking masculinity too seriously. The role suits him not only because it shows his vulnerable, feminine side but also because it gives him more aspects of his nature that he can give to Timmy. “ _He was, and would for ever remain, my brother, my friend, my husband, my lover, myself._ ” And your mother, wife and Anima too, Armie. As they are very valid parts of your nature too. Your very soul with every global male and female symbol that live in there. And this elevates their connection to another level. Remember the openness on the set of CMBYN that Armie keeps talking about in his interviews? You can do this with someone only if you feel safe and loved.

I will stop here before this starts to resembles a full dissertation, but if anyone wants to read it, I can tidy up my notes on their body art, colours and the meaning of time in Armpit Heaven. 

_Thank you, peaches!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Work of fiction. Not real!
> 
> @holdmygazeoliver on tumblr.


End file.
